


Blood in the Water

by purplesunsets



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulation, Mutual Pining, Mythology - Freeform, Pirates, Power Imbalance, Shapeshifting, Sirens, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28540848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplesunsets/pseuds/purplesunsets
Summary: “Why are you doing this?” Clay whispers and grips George’s face with bloodied hands. “You said you loved me.”“It’s because I love you, Clay.” George sneers, eyes dark with wrath. “This is your fault.”“You’re a monster.” Clay hisses through his tears.“And you aren’t?” George laughs hysterically, gills fluttering in delight. Pointedly, he begins to sing, voice sweet in the most painful way.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 210





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pls pay attention to the tags this is probably triggering 
> 
> If you thought it couldn’t get more disturbing than Coming Undone, Dre basically gets with a fish in this one /hj
> 
> Or, the siren/sailor au I’ve wanted to write for a long time with Patches still hard carrying the plot somehow.

“Ready to set sail?” Nick grins while he unties their boat from the dock. 

“Always.” Clay answers. He glances once more at the beautiful town behind him. Merchants dance between colorful stalls piled high with fresh fruit and exquisite tapestries. Spiros was a hidden gem Clay had discovered on one of his first voyages. “I’m going to miss it here, though.”

“You’re telling me. This is my home, after all.”

“Trust me, I know. You’re the best thing I’ve ever on any of my voyages. It’s why Spiros is so dear to me, because of  _ you.”  _

“Shut up.” Nick laughs, teeth white against his tan skin. “If you weren’t so in love with yourself, I’d think you were trying to date me.”

“Nick, we literally dated for a month.” Clay snorts. 

“Yeah and I regret every second of it.” Nick shudders. “I seriously was questioning if I even liked guys because of you.” 

_ “Gee, thanks.” _

“You know that’s not what I mean. There’s nothing wrong with you, but dating you felt like incest.” 

“Wow. That makes me feel so much better.” Clay drawls sarcastically. 

“Stop being so annoying and get in the boat, you son of bitch.” Nick huffs. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Clay smiles, heart warm with joy.

—

The sea has always been Clay’s home. He remembers all the nights he spent in the castle’s library, studying leather-bound books which detailed the intricacies of sailing. In the dim light of candelabras stolen from the banquet hall, he could almost taste the bitter saltiness of the waves. For so many years, sailing had seemed like nothing more than an impossible dream, just a childish whim that would never amount to anything for a boy destined for the throne. 

He was born as a prince, and knew that one day, he would be king. He had lived in Mesanae for all his life, but it had never been his home. The castle, despite its grandeur, felt just as cold and foreboding as his family that reared him. Many nights he had stared from his bedroom window in despair, knowing that everything he didn’t want would soon become his own.

But now, Clay is twenty one and has long since left his castle and family. Gone are his princely cloaks and team of servants. Sometimes he wonders what the town says of him, the runaway prince who left royalty for life as a sailor, a peasant. Do they see him as a swashbuckler with his head up his ass or do they secretly admire his rebellion and lust for their own? Clay supposes it doesn’t really matter, because he’s free now, and has never looked back.

“What do you have for me, girl?” Clay crouches down from the wheel and takes the small animal from Patches’ maw. He pets her on the head. “A rat? That’s disgusting, thanks.” 

Patches scampers back below deck, probably to search for any other vermin lingering from when they were docked at port. Clay smiles fondly to himself as the sun kisses his face.

“You see anything, Nick?” Clay calls out, hands relaxed on the wheel. He doesn’t see any boats in the distance, but it never hurts to be careful.

“Nothing, brother.” Nick answers from where he sits in the crow’s nest, a pair of binoculars hung from his neck. “How’s it going down there?”

“Same as usual.” Clay laughs. He loves this. Though he may be dressed in plain clothes and have little wealth to his name, it’s still much better than the oppressive life he once lived in the castle. He gets to sail the world with his best friend and he won’t have to marry his cousin. What more could he want?

Eventually, Patches returns to sit at the farthest part of the aft while the sun slowly sinks beneath the horizon as they travel west toward it. The water sparkles with yellow diamonds and the blood red sky is dotted with orange clouds. It would almost be unsettling to sail into if Clay didn’t know better. It’s one of the first things he had learned: red sky at night, sailors delight. But something just feels  _ off _ . The waves seem to beat against the boat with intent to make it sink and the wind nearly tears through the sails. Clay has sailed through typhoons and has docked at pirate-owned ports, but this is the first time he has ever felt unsafe. 

“You alright, Clay?” Nick asks as he climbs down from the mast. “You look stiff.” 

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t give me that, I can tell something’s on your mind.” Nick sits down on a barrel and begins to wipe off the dried fish guts crusted on his harpoon. He smiles as though to say,  _ ‘There are no secrets on this ship.’ _

“You don’t feel it?” Clay frowns and wrings his hands anxiously. “I can’t even describe it. I feel like something bad is going to happen.” 

The sea mist clings to his skin and the scent of salt invades his senses. Normally it’s intoxicating and comforting, but for some reason, it feels wrong.

“You’ve been at the helm too long. Come on, go rest and get something to eat. Have some citrus, the last thing we need is for you to get scurvy.” Nick smiles and claps him on the back kindly. Clay knows he should feel reassured, since Nick himself is from a family of sailors and knows the sea even better than Clay does. But he still feels unnerved. 

“But—“

“Go. Rest.” Nick cuts him off sternly and nearly pries him from the wheel.

Reluctantly, Clay nods and lays down on the cot in his quarters. Patches curls up on his chest and Clay prays that his ship stays afloat, even though he has no reason to think it wouldn’t. He falls asleep quickly but his sleep is restless and his dreams are filled with dread.

—

Clay wakes up in the middle of the night with a chill up his spine. It’s raining and dark when he makes it back onto the deck, the oil lanterns unlit. 

“Nick?” Clay squints into the darkness as he approaches the hull. 

“We need to go faster.” Nick murmurs, eyes glassy and distant. “Twelve knots at least.”

They’re going a good speed, already cruising at ten knots. Clay doesn’t see any reason to go faster. He glances at his compass and watches the needle spin aimlessly. “What’s going on?”

Nick says something but his voice is drowned out by the howling wind.

“What?” Clay yells. 

“I don’t know, Clay!” Nick’s knuckles are white with how hard he’s holding the wheel. He looks scared in a way Clay has never seen before. “I took a quick nap and I don’t know where we are now. God, I hope we’re not in pirate territory...”

Clay feels irritated and mad, but mostly at himself. He knew he shouldn’t have left Nick alone at the helm. Though he can’t say for sure, maybe if he had stayed, they wouldn’t be lost.

Nick shoves a worn book into Clay’s hands. “You’ve always been better with maps than me. See if you can figure out where we are.” 

Clay thumbs through yellowed pages until he reaches the map he was using earlier. “How long were you asleep? We can’t be that far off our path.” 

“I don’t know. Nothing’s working. The compasses, the clock. We’re sailing blindly.” 

“The stars.” Clay mumbles to himself and quickly flips to the back of the book. “We can use that.” 

“What?” 

“Celestial navigation. If I can find Polaris, we’ll know where north is, at least.” Clay takes the binoculars from Nick’s neck and peers through them. He glances at the chart of constellations in the book, then back at the sky. 

“Well?”

“This doesn’t make sense. The stars don’t make sense.” No matter which way Clay faces he can’t understand what he’s looking at. Not a single constellation seems to be in the sky. 

“Fuck.” Nick says under his breath. “My grandpa told me about tales like this when I was younger. Stories of sailors driven to madness by Sirens.” 

“Sirens don’t exist, Nick. There has to be an explanation for this.” 

“That’s what every sailor thinks until they hear the Sirens sing. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sirens control the weather too or some shit.” Nick nearly whispers, but somehow his voice cuts through the wailing sea. “If anything happens, I love you, Clay.”

“You’re talking crazy.” Clay hisses, and grabs Nick by his shoulders. Nick stares back at him, gaze hollow and unhinged. “Just don’t steer us into any rocks and we’ll be fine.” 

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” Clay answers. “Come on. If we keep heading in one direction we’re bound to end up  _ somewhere.  _ It might not be Abdine or Myonyria or any of the ports we planned to go to, but it will be somewhere. We’re not lost at sea.”

“The world is much larger than you think.” Nick mutters cynically. 

“Why don’t you head up to the crow’s nest again? I like having you as my eyes.” 

“Sure.” Nick hesitates before climbing the rigging, as though there’s something else he wants to say.

—

“What the hell?” Clay chews the inside of his cheek and glances up at the sails. They sag wearily from their mast without the wind inflating them. 

“What’s going on?” Nick shouts down from his post.

“There’s no wind.” Clay desperately turns the wheel, as though manipulating the rudder will serve them any purpose. The sun is slowly rising in the distance. It’s concerning, because Clay knows they were sailing toward the sunset last night. Could they have possibly switched directions completely?

“Where is it?” 

“You think I know?” Clay shrugs helplessly. “All we can do is wait it out, I guess. This has never happened to me before.” 

“Okay.” Nick answers, quiet and defeated. “I’ll get the flares in case we see anyone.”

Hours pass and the air remains stagnant. 

“This is seriously weird, Clay. We’re in the middle of the ocean. It’s literally impossible for there to not be wind.” Nick fiddles with the sail to make sure that’s not where the problem lies. 

“Yeah.” Clay admits. He’s been a sailor since he was seventeen, and has been on both triremes and canoes, but nothing could’ve prepared him for this. His current ship, a brigantine, is a respectable and reliable ship, and yet is bobbing in the ocean like a dead fish. 

“As far as I can tell, the sails are fine.” Nick sighs. “Are you sure we’re not anchored?”

“Positive. It’s really unlikely that we’re stuck in coral either, we’re out too deep.” Clay leans into a crate and takes out a glass jar. “Want a pickle?” 

Nick doesn’t answer. 

“Pickle?” Clay asks again. 

Nick is staring into the distance, an expression of pure terror painted across his features. Clay fumbles for his own binoculars and squints through them. A cluster of boats dot the edge of the sea. 

“A ship!” Clay cheers, and before the ships can pass them by, he sets off a flare. “They can help us.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Nick screams at him. “Purple sails, Clay! They have purple sails!”

“What?” Clay says dumbly. “Purple sails?”

“Pirates. We’re in Andreian pirate territory. Are you stupid?” Nick spits. “We’re fucking dead.”

Clay thinks back to everything he knows of the sea. He knows how to tie dozens of different knots and man a helm, but he doesn’t know how to deal with pirates. It’s a skill he never thought he’d need, though he’s not sure it can even be learned.

“They probably saw us anyway, but I wish you hadn’t done that.” Nick shoves a rifle into Clay’s arms. “Take this. You’re a better shot than I am.” 

Clay swallows around the lump of fear in his throat. “Alright.”

It seems like an eternity until the boats reach them, creeping slowly between white crested waves. A slow, but certain death. And all they can do is wait for their inevitable doom. The boats crash their hulls into the sides of Clay’s own beloved ship, surrounding him and Nick. There is no escape. 

A man wearing a lush velvet coat and a silken hat sneers down at them. Clay fumbles with his rifle but doesn’t shoot. There are a dozen shotguns pointed at them, it would be foolish. 

“What do we have here?” The captain sneers and hops from his boat to Clay’s. “Lost at sea?”

“Get off my fucking ship.” Nick says lowly. Before Clay can tell him to shut up, a shot rings out. Nick collapses to the deck and his head hits the wood with a loud smack. 

“Do you have riches for me, boy?” The pirate steps over Nick’s corpse and grabs Clay by the collar. “Gold beneath the decks?”

“No.” Clay replies weakly, and tries to not think about how Nick is bleeding out at his feet. He thinks it’s testament to how traumatized he is that he’s able to pretend that this isn’t happening. “We don’t have anything.”

“I think you, do.” The pirate gets chest to chest with him and snatches the rifle from his grip. “This is a fine weapon.”

“It is.” Clay echoes helplessly. It’s one of his few belongings that is dear to him. He had stolen it from the royal armory years ago and it’s his last piece of home. 

“I know a wealthy ship when I see one.” The man casts it into the sea and points his own sawed off shotgun at Clay’s forehead. “Any last words?”

Clay’s mind is blank with fear. He’s still young and he’s not ready to die. _He’s_ _not ready to die._

“That’s what I thought.” The captain bellows.

Clay screws his eyes shut and leans into the pressure of the muzzle. Minutes pass and nothing happens. He dares to open his eyes and notices that the men are all frozen still. “Am I dead?” He wonders.

Abruptly, a terrible screeching noise pierces the air, and Clay clamps his hands over his ears. It’s a horrible sound, one of wailing and weeping. 

From deckhands to mates, the men cast themselves overboard into the sea. The captain before Clay remains on the ship, but even he seems captured by the horrible song. 

Then, as quickly as it started, the sound ceases and it is quiet again. Strangely, the captain still seems frozen in place. The silence is somehow more unnerving than the sound. 

Suddenly, in a blur of dark eyes and deep blue scales, the man is tackled to the ground. The creature considers his prey for a moment before tearing out his windpipe with sharp, white teeth. The wound is wide and looks like a red smile as blood pours from it. Clay watches transfixed as the lesion tears further revealing fluttering, pink vocal chords. The man thrashes and seizes as chunks of muscle and flesh are torn from bone by both claws and teeth, swiftly consumed by the fish-like creature that crouches above him. A gurgling noise comes from the man’s mouth as he retches and chokes on his own blood. 

The creature tears into the captain’s chest cavity and yanks his heart out from between his ribs. He holds it out to Clay like a prize, still pulsing in his grip.

“This is for you.” He rasps with bloodied lips. His gaze is feral and crazed, though there is something undeniably beautiful about him. It takes Clay a moment to realize that he has just met a Siren.

The creature smiles at him, teeth and gums stained red, chunks of the captain in his hair. It’s a sickly sight and Clay is convinced that if he is not already dead, he soon will be. 

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nick isn’t freaking dead omg you guys LOL
> 
> tw// brief mention of rape, not graphic

Clay doesn’t take the heart, though part of him thinks he should. The Siren crushes it in his own hand, squishing it between his fingers like an over-ripened tomato, viscous blood gushing from the organ. It’s disgusting, but the ugly, vengeful parts of Clay—ones that he’s buried beneath easy smiles and gentleness—like it. 

There’s something very shark-like about the creature before him, from his complexion to gills. Delicate wings, rooted on either side of his spine, are spread grandly behind him as he crouches above the captain. Even with fresh blood painted on his lips, he looks lovely and dangerous. Clay has never known something so deadly to look so romantic, so inviting.

Nick lets out a low groan, and Clay internally sighs in relief. Clay knew that the injury wasn’t one that would kill, just incapacitate. But he still wouldn’t put it past Nick to find a way to die from a non-lethal injury. He still seems unconscious, but he’s  _ alive _ . And that’s all that matters. Clay kneels at Nick’s side and presses against the wound, hands slipping against blood soaked trousers. He regrets not helping Nick immediately, and internally curses himself. How much blood has Nick lost while Clay was watching a human being torn limb from limb, flesh from bone?

_ “Let me.”  _

Clay watches transfixed as the Siren creeps over to Nick’s body and begins to play the tortoiseshell lyre slung over his shoulder, delicate fingers stained red dancing across the strings. He sings again, but the sound is not the screeching from before, but rather a gentle crooning. The lesion on Nick’s thigh and the gash on his head heal before Clay’s eyes. For a moment, Clay wonders if this is even real. Maybe his brain is just inventing this to cope with seeing his best friend get shot. Maybe this is his breaking point. He’s already so traumatized. 

In the distance, he can see newly drowned corpses bobbing in the water. It’s an image of both murder and salvation, one that takes him back to the forever blood-tinged waters surrounding his castle.

“Get away from him.” Clay swallows around the thick nervousness in his chest. He fights the urge to reach for his rifle and stab its bayonet into the hollowed space between the creature’s collarbones.

“I’m here to hurt either of you.” The Siren assures him gently. “He’s going to be okay. Just give him time to rest.”

“What did you do to him?” 

“I healed him. Mostly. I’ve never been very good at healing incantations, but he’ll live.” 

“You saved us?” 

“I suppose so.”

“Thank you.” Clay murmurs, still trying to comprehend everything. 

“Those pirates have killed nearly every Siren that roams these waters. This was just revenge, long overdue. An eye for an eye. You don’t need to thank me.”

“You saved us. You didn’t have to, but you saved us.” Clay repeats and grasps the creature’s hands. “I mean it, thank you.”

“I’ve never met a man that could resist my song.” The Siren muses, his dark eyes shining playfully. “Perhaps that makes you worth saving.”

“What the hell are you?!” Nick jerks away from them, smacking his head on the deck and knocking himself out again. 

The Siren looks wildly unimpressed and leans against the mast casually, stance unthreatening. “Your friend is rather foolish it seems.”

“Yeah. Well, that’s just Nick. He’s always like this.” Clay laughs, lingering uneasiness fading to gratitude. “I’m Clay, by the way.”

“Clay. It suits you. I like it.”

“Do you have a name?” Clay ventures cautiously. 

He knows that he’s speaking to a Siren—a supposed evil beast from the ocean’s depths—but it doesn’t feel that way. How bad could someone be who is willing to save Nick’s life? Ultimately, Clay would let the world burn if it meant protecting Nick, so this seems like a rather inconsequential alternative. What’s the worth of the life of a pirate when Clay has killed many innocent?

“My name is not quite as nice as yours. The sea knows me as Onchysthenes. But I don’t like to be called that. The pirates have dirtied my name with their blackened tongues and tar-slick words.” 

“How about George?” Clay forces his eyes away from the mangled corpse sprawled on the deck. “If you don’t like your name, I can call you George.”

“George? I like that.” George smiles. “I’ve never had a human name before. Thank you.”

Clay rubs his neck sheepishly. “It’s the least I could do. I have little else to give you as a token of my gratitude.”

“There is one thing you could give me.” George trails off. 

“What is it?” Clay swallows and prays it’s not his life he has to give. 

“You’re land-bound, right? Take me with you. I have always wondered what it’s like to be human. What human ports and homes are like.” George answers quietly, almost ashamedly. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

“That’s all? I may not have jewels or gold, but surely there is something more you’d like.”

“Greed is the bane of human existence. Those pirates raped and killed my family to steal our secrets and disgrace our kind.” George snarls, eyes alight with fury. “Maybe you’re no different, Clay. Would you do that to me after I saved your life?”

“Never. God, of course not.” Clay shakes his head vehemently. 

“Can I trust you?” 

“If I betray you, I’ll tear out my heart and give it to you on a silver platter.”

George sighs quietly. “I can tell you seek to please me, but I wish not for your demise or your riches, only to experience life as you do. Can you give me that, Clay?”

“Of course.” Clay watches as George’s lips pull into a wide smile, redness still wet against white teeth. “You’re safe with me, I promise.”

—

“I had the craziest dream.” Nick groans and sits up. “You wouldn’t believe it.”

“Yeah?” Clay turns the wheel as they approach the dock. It’s night and the port is lit up with brass lanterns. He watches stoically as George marvels at the sight, perched at the edge of the ship’s figurehead.

“There were pirates and—why am I on the floor?” Nick frowns.

“Are you joking, Nick? Pirates came on our ship and fucking shot you.” Clay scowls. “You don’t remember?”

“Not really, but it’s fine.” Nick shrugs. “Goddamn my head is killing me, though.”

_ “You were shot.” _ Clay repeats, because he can’t believe that Nick is brushing off something like this. “This isn’t something to laugh about.”

“I’m not laughing.” Nick holds his hands up. “Listen, this wasn’t the first time I’ve been shot and probably won’t be the last. It’s better not to dwell on it.”

“You only say that because you’re  _ lucky _ . You get into trouble and I’m always the one who’s saving your ass. But what happens when your luck runs out? Or what if I’m not around? What then?” 

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being realistic.” Clay pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I grew up a pauper, Clay. You lived in a fucking castle. You don’t know the first thing about what’s realistic.”

“So you want to go there, okay—“

“Is this what you humans do for fun? Bicker?” George hops off the statue, landing deftly on the deck. “Seems like a poor use of your already limited time on this earth.”

“Fuck, I saw that thing in my dream, too.” Nick points accusingly at George. “Am I still sleeping?”

“Unfortunately not.” George intones dryly.

“If it weren’t for  _ that thing,  _ you wouldn’t be alive, Nick.  _ We  _ wouldn’t be alive.” Clay hisses. The scariest part is that it’s true. “He saved us.”

“Shit, my bad.” Nick turns to face George and holds out his hand. “Thank you...” 

“George. You can call me George.” 

“Thank you, George.” Nick smiles genuinely.

“The pleasure was all mine.” George laughs humorlessly. “It was nothing really, all I did was deal with the pirates and heal you.” He sends a hard glare toward Clay, warning him to not say anything more. 

“You healed me? That’s awesome.”

“I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t.” George doesn’t shake Nick’s hand. “You’re rather irritating and loud.”

“Well, you look weird.” Nick stammers immaturely. “Like a fish-bird.”

“I’m a Siren.” George deadpans. “What am I supposed to look like? Merfolk?”

“A Siren.” Nick echoes, looking ten shades paler than before. “Like one from sailors’ tales?”

“Perhaps.” George shrugs. “You need not fear me, though. Sirens mean humans no harm.”

“Don’t Sirens sink ships?” Clay wants to scream at Nick to shut up before George un-heals him or something.

But George only seems amused, as though he’s entertaining a toddler. “Only those of pirates.”

“Oh, cool. I hate pirates.” Nick snorts.

“Don’t we all?” George mutters bitterly.

—

“So, where will we be staying tonight?” George asks while Nick and Clay secure the boat to the dock. It’s late, so luckily the area is desolate. Clay isn’t sure how the town would react to them bringing a Siren upon their shore.

_ “We?”  _ Nick shoots Clay a pointed look.

“Yes,  _ we. _ ” Clay elbows Nick in the side. “George is going to hang out with us for a bit.”

Nick considers this for a moment and then seems to decide he doesn’t care. “Alright.”

“What’s this place called?” George wonders.

“Abdine.” Clay replies.

“Do either of you live here?” George is clothed in a white chiton and is barefoot. It does little to hide the clusters of blue and gray scales on his skin or the feathery wings tucked against his side. Clay wonders briefly what use a sea creature has for bird-wings. From what Clay can tell, he can’t fly.

“No, I’m from warmer waters down in Spiros. And Clay here is from Mesanae.” 

“Mesanae.” George’s eyes are unfocused and distant. He looks vaguely upset. “I know that name.”

“It’s a wealthy trading port.” Clay answers. “You’ve probably seen royal ships with the name painted on the side or something.”

“Maybe.” George still looks troubled, and it makes Clay nervous.

“George, I’m not sure how the person we’re staying with is going to feel about you. We might have to sneak you in, or something.” Nick clears his throat awkwardly.

“Why?” George asks, eyes wide and glassy.

“I’m not sure how to say this, but most people aren’t very fond of Sirens.” Nick says hesitantly. “I mean, he’s a pretty accepting guy but…”

“Right.” George mutters bitterly. 

“Maybe we can—what the hell?” Clay watches as George begins to glow slightly, heat radiating from his skin. Slowly, scales smooth to pale skin and his wings melt into his back. 

“Is this better?” George grasps his white tunic where it slides off his shoulder. “Do I look human now?” 

“Beautiful.” Clay murmurs reverently. “You’re really something, George.”

“This guy just fucking shapeshifted, Clay! And all you’re thinking about is his looks?” Nick kicks Clay in the shin. “Get yourself together.”

“What? Can humans not do this?” George huffs breathily. “How pathetic.”

“I wish.” Nick scoffs. “Unfortunately, I’m stuck in this meat sack.”

This makes George smile. “Don’t feel too bad, I’m rather weak for a Siren. I can’t hold my human form for more than a few hours.”

“That’s still impressive as hell.” Nick lets out a low whistle. 

George throws his head back and laughs. “Thank you.”

“Yeah. We’re already a day late, we shouldn’t make him wait any longer.” Nick replies. “Ever met an alchemist before, George?”

—

With each step the hill seems to grow more treacherous, but Clay isn’t sure if it’s his imagination or a trick of Karl’s magic. 

“Why Karl chose to live on a fucking mountain is a mystery to me.” Clay grunts.

“I like it. It’s pretty up here.” George says even though he’s almost fallen down the hill twice. The third time he stumbles, Clay takes him into his arms before he can hurt himself. George stiffens in his hold at first, but soon relaxes.

“I can walk.” George grumbles. “I have legs and all.”

“Well, I don’t want to see you get hurt.” Clay shrugs. “You’re light enough.”

“Bird bones are hollow, you know.” 

“Bird bones?” Clay echoes.

“That’s correct.” George nods, resting his head against Clay’s shoulder. His eyes are heavy lidded and Clay has to wonder if it’s painful for George to shapeshift for so long. 

“Aren’t you more of a fish?” Clay blurts. “I mean, no offense?”

George laughs weakly, looking half-dead with fatigue. “I’ll tell you later, yeah?”

“Alright.” Clay nods, and settles his gaze on where Nick mosies up the trail in the distance, Karl standing at the door, waving as they approach.

—

“Sorry for the hill, it’s great in the winter when it snows though.” Karl laughs and amicably claps Nick on the shoulder. “It’s great to see you both, and your guest?”

“Sorry for the delay, but we picked up a friend on our way here.” Nick gestures to George. 

“A friend of yours is a friend of mine.” Karl says easily and holds out his hand. “What’s your name?”

“Call me George.”

—

Embers crackle in Karl’s fireplace and gems and geodes on the mantle cast brilliant patterns of light onto the walls. Strange trinkets line the shelves and vines hang from the ceiling. Interest fills every corner of the room from the globe on the coffee table to the scientific equipment splayed across a makeshift workbench. Despite the room being otherwise modest, there’s a certain richness to the space that Clay hasn’t known since his princehood.

“You really have quite the set-up here, Karl.” Clay glances around, admiring the richness of the room. “It’s changed a lot since we visited you last.” 

“What can I say? Alchemy, astrology, sorcery—they’re all in high demand.” Karl smirks. “And I’m one of the best around.”

“Yeah, yeah. We know you’re super cool and rich, but humble yourself for our sakes.” Nick rolls his eyes. “I’m proud of you, but I’m jealous.”

“If it makes you feel better, a good chunk of my earnings have gone to the girl who sells candles at the market.” Karl busies himself with lighting one while George watches over his shoulder. 

“Why?” George sticks his pinky finger into the wax that begins to bead at the top of the candle and watches as it dries on his skin. “Do you like candles?”

“Not particularly.” Karl replies sheepishly.

“Nah, he’s just buying candles because he wants to woo her or some shit.” Clay snorts. 

“You’re wasting your money.” George grins as though he’s just given Karl the greatest advice of his life. 

“Says the man wearing a glorified bedsheet.” 

“Yes, I said that.” George states and Clay wonders if sarcasm doesn’t exist amongst Sirens.

“You did.” Karl chuckles fondly. “It’s getting pretty late, I can show you all to your rooms if you’d like.”

“Sounds great.” Nick yawns. “I’m beat.”

“Same here.” Karl cracks his knuckles and rolls his neck. “Clay? George? Are you guys coming?”

“If it’s alright with you I’d like to stay down here a bit longer. I need to make a few edits to my maps.” 

“I’d like to stay with Clay.” George says quietly, and maybe it’s just the soft lighting of the hearth, but it almost looks like he’s blushing.

“Alright, just don’t smoke any of my herbs again.” Karl glares pointedly at Clay and then motions for Nick to follow him. “Goodnight.” 

Clay sits down on the tawny leather couch and George settles beside him on the armrest. Despite the warmth of the room, George shivers.

“Are you cold?” Clay frowns and covers George’s hands with his own. 

“A little. It’s just getting hard to keep holding this form.” George shrugs and Clay can see the faint imprint of scales beginning to fade back into existence. 

“Then don’t.”

“But I can tell that you’re scared of me.” George frowns.

“I’m not scared of you.” Clay says quickly. It’s not entirely true, but it’s not a lie either. 

“You should be.” George sighs as his wings slowly appear again and scales blossom across his flesh. “Sirens are feared for a reason.”

“But you protected me, you saved Nick’s life.”

“By drowning over a dozen pirates.  _ Humans,  _ just like you, Clay.”

“Well, yeah.” 

But for some reason it doesn’t bother Clay the way he knows it should. He remembers being just five years of age and—ordered by his father—to shoot, to slaughter a peasant caught stealing bread from a bakery in town. The man was hung in the square, and long dead, but it was never enough for his father. Between the clumsy, grubby hands of a child held a sword, plunged into the stomach of a man who was just  _ hungry.  _ Clay is in no place to condemn someone for killing in self-defense, when he has killed in vain time and time again, hands forever bloodstained no matter how hard he scrubs at them. 

He wonders sometimes if he’ll ever forget the way blood tinges iron, dripping down to the hilt of a blade, or the way gunpowder mingles with the noxious scent of charred flesh and bones, or the bloodthirsty sheen that never seemed to leave his father’s eyes—even when looking at his own son and wife.

“Clay? Hello?” George asks, waving a hand in front of Clay’s face.

“Sorry, what?” Clay blinks blearily.

“You were staring at me.”

“Sorry, sorry. I must’ve zoned out.” Clay swallows against the acrid flavor of bile at the back of his throat. “Hey, you said you would tell me about the bird bone thing.” 

George’s expression immediately darkens. “Right.”

“You don’t have to.” Clay says hurriedly. “We can talk about something else.”

“No. I’ll tell you.” George looks uncertain, posture rigid. “I get it. It’s strange, that I have bird bones and wings when I’m from the sea”

Clay nods and watches as the shadows from the flames dance across George’s face.

“There isn’t an answer. I’m a Siren. My anatomy is as much of a mystery to me as it is anyone else.”

“Oh.” Clay frowns.

“Pirates take particular joy in hurting and hunting Sirens. I’ve seen the organs and bones of the mutilated corpses of my family. Their bones were hollow. My bones are also hollow.” George says quietly, nonchalantly as though he hasn’t just name-dropped mass murder.

“I’m sorry.” Clay whispers, hardly louder than the crackling fire. “That you went through that.”

“I escaped in the end. That’s what’s important, right?” George tries to smile but he wavers. And repeats, a bit more panicked, “Right?”

“You’re okay.” Clay pushes George’s dark hair away from his face. “They can’t hurt you anymore, yeah?”

Clay watches as George’s gills flutter with the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “Yeah.” George’s breath stutters and hitches. “You’ll protect me right?”

Clay wants to ask how he possibly could, when George is the one that saved him. Instead he says, “I’ll try.”

“Promise me.” George rasps, creeping into Clay’s space and locking his hand around his throat. “Please, Clay. You have to promise.”

“I promise.” Clay wheezes. And George instantly releases him. If it weren’t for the wetness of blood on his neck, he’d think it hadn’t happened.

“Thank you.” George whispers softly into Clay’s ear, breath hot against fresh wounds, tone vexing in the most intoxicating way.

George says something else, that Clay can’t quite make out. It sounds oddly like,  _ ‘Mine.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been dealing with so much burn out and mental health issues lately that it’s been hard to find motivation to write and edit
> 
> I’m really not fond of this chapter but sometimes it’s best to just post what you have and move on 
> 
> Thank you for commenting and supporting me, it really keeps me going :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope u enjoyed! If u see any typos pls point them out, I’m so grateful when ppl do :]
> 
> Anyway, three boys and in a boat what they gonna do :0 
> 
> Originally I was going to title this Heart of the Sea like the Minecraft object but I decided not to lol
> 
> Ps this whole thing was inspired by this tiktok: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMJngfxYo/
> 
> I love you all so much <33


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